Family Ties
by Kipcha
Summary: Carl's on his own with a sick Rick, desperate to save the only family he has left. That is until he runs in to Daryl and Beth and realizes that there is more to family then just blood ties.
1. Chapter 1

_There was fire. Bullets whizzing through the air. The vibrations from the tank rumbling through the ground. The heat of the sun on his back. The glint of light off a sword. _

_A man who filled him with such boiling, intense hatred that it burned through his stomach, rising from his throat in a scream, his vision turning red as his mind demanded vengeance. Demanded that mans death._

_And blood._

_So much blood._

_A man with a beard of white, staining crimson. A car seat, wet and sticky and scarlet._

_Everything swirled, nothing making sense, mixing all together. _

_Then it turned black._

_And he screamed._

* * *

"Dad! DAD! WAKE UP!"

Rick thrashed, a ripping pain tearing through his body, originating from somewhere. What it was, his mind couldn't identify, still filled with panic and fear. Vaguely, he could feel his face was soaked with tears.

"Dad! It's Carl! It's me! You have to stop, you're hurting yourself!"

Even in his panic, that one name always managed to gain his undivided attention.

_Carl_.

Gradually, he stilled. His vision began to clear, the fog in his mind clearing as he realized he wasn't at the prison anymore. He shuddered as chills racked up his spine, his very skin aching and the familiar sensation of his leg feeling like someone set it on fire came to life. He mumbled incoherently for a moment, his eyes searching the dark room, taking in the aged furniture and dust floating through the air, illuminated by the sunlight beaming in through the grimy windows. Slowly, he settled on his sons blue eyes, a brilliant blue that reminded him of the sky, of the ocean, of when things were still good.

"C-Carl."

The boy's shaggy hair stuck out awkwardly from under that old sheriff's hat, his face horribly pale as he regarded his father. He pressed a hand to Rick's forehead, it still shaking slightly as if something had given him a fright (Or was it Rick shaking? He really didn't know...). Rick coughed, his lungs protesting in his chest as he did so. His throat was terribly dry and he debated asking for water, but part of him just couldn't do it. There wasn't any plumbing anymore and even in such a small neighborhood, Walkers routinely roamed the streets. He couldn't send Carl out there, alone, to get him water. He's deal with the thirst.

He couldn't be responsible. Not again.

Luckily for him, Carl seemed to know exactly what was necessary and held out a cup of water. He pressed his hand lightly to the back of Rick's head, lifting it delicately and tilting the liquid to his fathers lips. He forced Rick to drink slow, not wanting to upset his stomach like he had the day before, which resulted in it coming right back up again. Rick swallowed greedily, his base instincts momentarily overriding his concerns.

After a bit Rick sank back on to the couch, breathing heavily. His eyes searched the darkness and took on a feverish glow. Carl felt dread sink in his chest. Rick rarely had completely lucid moments anymore. Moving slowly, he moved down to inspect the bullet wound in Ricks leg. The flesh around it had darkened further, the heat of it nearly overwhelming, so warm he could feel it without even touching it. He pressed it lightly and swallowed thickly when pus pressed up from the wound, making Carl's heart beat faster.

He bound the wound again, wishing more then ever that he had spent more time with Hershel. Learned how to care for these kinds of things. But he pushed the thoughts away. Thinking of the man was simply too painful.

He prayed, not for the first time, that he would not lose the only family he had left.

"Carl?" Rick's voice cracked through the silence. He sounded calm, which was a relief. He had been screaming earlier, calling out of Hershel and Judith. Carl had panicked to silence the mans bellows, terrified of what they would attract. "Where's your Mom? I forgot to tell her I'd be home late tonight."

Carl forced himself to speak past the growing lump in his throat. "She, uh, she went out."

"Ah." Rick responded, sinking back again and closing his eyes, a strange smile on his face. "Oh well, did she take Judy with her?"

This time Carl couldn't stop his voice from cracking, tears rising in his eyes. "Y-Yeah, she did."

A strained chuckle broke past Rick's lips. "Good, it'll give you a break from baby sitting. I know you want to go out with your friends Carl."

"I'm alright."

Rick turned his blue eyes to his son, too bright and unseeing to truly be looking at Carl. "Such a good big brother. I'm so proud of you Carl."

Carl sat for hours, waiting for his father to fall back into a fevered sleep before allowing the panic to claw at his chest, anxiety choking him and making it difficult to breathe. He allowed himself to drift off, his troubled mind giving him dreams of a knife slicing through a belly, a baby carrier filled with blood and his father, his blue eyes misted over, a rasp escaping his throat and his fingers reaching.

He groped, wanting nothing more then to taste Carl's flesh and devour him.

And to dream Carl's horror, he let him.

* * *

Carl slunk through the trees, his eyes pinned on the pharmacy that sat just at the edge of this little town. It looked ransacked from a distance, he knew for a fact a few of his group had been through here during the months at the prison. The front windows shattered and the shelves looked bare. He noted movement inside and his hands clasped his pistol but he forced his hand to still. He couldn't be reckless about this. Firing a bullet now would be suicide.

Drawing on the months where they had been living on the road, Carl took a deep breath and emerged from the bushes.

He crossed the road as fast as he could, his eyes darting in every direction but seeing no movement other then inside the pharmacy. He pressed his back to the brick wall as soon as he could, moving along the side of the building towards the front door. He could hear the shuffling now and paused, trying to decide where the sounds were coming from.

He peeked, but didn't dare stick his head out too far. He couldn't make out much but his heart sank noting all the shattered glass on the ground. It would make moving silently impossible if he went through that entrance. Perhaps there was another way.

Moving quickly, he went around the back of the building and to his relief, there was a back door, still intact and ajar. A much better entry point.

Sneaking back around to the front, Carl searched and found the biggest rock he could. Testing the weight of the rock, he turned and hurled the stone as far down the road as he could. It connected, clattering and skittering, as loud as a gunshot in the silence.

The movement stilled for a moment inside but before long, it moved again.

Without waiting to see whatever was inside leave, and possibly be spotted by it, Carl raced back to the back door. Quickly looking the room over to make sure there weren't any Walkers hiding in the corner, he went behind the counter, crouching down to search. Shaking fingers groped around, looking for anything, but all his searching hands encountered were spider webs.

At the sound of broken glass shifting under someone's foot Carl froze, his eyes darting up to see shadows moving along the wall from over the counter.

Carl swallowed, watching as they grew darker as the one making them drew closer.

Something prickled at the back of Carl's mind, a warning. He kept perfectly still for a moment, wondering what it was, before it suddenly struck him. There were no moans. Other then the foot steps, the pharmacy was silent.

_Shit_.

They were still living. The living could still shoot. The living were a bigger threat then the walkers.

He moved as quietly as he could, away from the counter to crouch behind a filing cabinet, his eyes shooting to the door that lead to his freedom. He nearly bolted for in but a flicker of movement crossed his peripheral vision and he hid again, his finger hovering over the gun trigger. He slowed his breathing, reminding himself that he wasn't helpless and listened.

It was silent again. For a moment, Carl entertained that perhaps the others had left, but something told him it wouldn't be that simple. Hiding wasn't his style, he reminded himself, he was no coward. He would not whimper in the corner, waiting to be attacked. Taking one last deep breath to steady himself, Carl readied the pistol and whipped around the corner.

To be met with a crossbow aimed at his face.

Carl blinked, his eyes raising to the face of the person wielding the weapon.

Daryl Dixon blinked back, surprise flashing through his eyes before he lowered his crossbow, a scowl on his face.

"Carl!"

A feminine shriek from behind the counter caught Carl's attention. Beth whipped around the counter, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Daryl nearly shot you!"

"I nearly shot him." Carl responded, holstering his weapon. He willed his heartbeat to slow, the incessant pounding in his ears still raging full force, the blood racing through his skull and making him feel light headed. It was odd, considering how his knees were nearly weak with relief at the sight of the pair. He allowed a rare grin to break out on his face, which only got wider when Beth pulled him to her in a hug, her voice tearful.

"We couldn't find anyone... After." She whispered, shaking. "We were so worried about everyone."

Daryl scanned the room before settling his eyes on Carl. "You alone?"

"No, Dad..." Immediately the reality of the situation pressed down on him again and Carl broke off from Beth's hug, returning to desperately scanning shelves. "It's just Dad and me. But he's sick."

"Sick?" Questioned Daryl, watching Carl warily. "How bad?"

"Real bad." Carl replied, his movements becoming more frantic when all he was met with were empty shelves. "He got shot at the prison, in the leg. It's infected and he hasn't been doing good."

"There ain't nothin' here that'll help very much." Daryl said simply, shrugging his crossbow back on to his shoulder. "Although we did find a bottle of baby aspirin. Though' it might help Lil' Asskicker when we met up with ya'll."

At the mention of the name Carl felt the air leave his lungs, his muscles tensing and tears gathering in his eyes. He sniffed them back stubbornly. He kept his hat brim low, not allowing any sign of what he knew to telegraph to the other pair. Now would not be the time to tell them. If they thought Judith was safe somewhere else, with the others, then he would let them believe it until they got somewhere safer.

For now, he had to focus on his Father.

"We can try giving some to him, might help a little with the fever." Carl mumbled in response, his fingers brushing his pistol in an uncomfortable gesture. "We should get back to him. He has nightmares, makes him start screaming. He'll draw the Walkers in. I try not to leave him alone for long."

Daryl waved a hand in an impatient gesture. "Lead the way."

* * *

When he awoke, he was completely alone.

Rick shook, chills wracking his thin frame as he tilted his body to get off the couch. His head felt clearer then it had in days, which may have been an unfortunate thing considering the worries that were racing through his mind. He forced them down, reminding himself that Carl was a capable young man, no longer a child. He had been caring for him for days now, he would have to trust him.

Still, nature was calling and he needed some way to answer it. He looked around for any kind of thing he could use as a bedpan, but none appeared. It was a simple little room. A ragged couch sat in the center, which he had been laying on, with a nest of blankets on the floor. It had obviously been used recently, which Rick assumed was where his son had been sleeping. A lick of shame raced through him. This shouldn't be Carl's job, so much responsibility for one so young. But he was coping and for that, Rick was overwhelmingly proud.

In the corner sat a book cabinet with some picture frames and a number of mystery novels, the type you found in drug stores and check out tills of grocery stores. They, too, had been recently moved. Carl as well, most likely. He must have had a large number of hours to pass and no one to really pass them with, the books must have been a godsend.

A useless television sat next the shelf, in front of it lay a stained area rug. A few landscape photos hung from walls covered in tacky wallpaper. A simple little room with one window, leaving a quick point of escape should the door be compromised. However, for now, all was quiet.

He stumbled, hobbling awkwardly on his good leg and fighting to keep weight off the other. It seared with white-hot pain whenever his foot even made contact with the ground but Rick pushed through it, forcing himself to move.

He pushed the door open, leading in to a small entrance hall with a bathroom off to the side. He fumbled forward before unzipping his pants desperately and allowing himself to be relieved. When he finished he turned back, hobbling in to the entrance way, his eyes pinned on the door. Carl would have to enter through there, so here was where he should wait.

Leaning heavily against the wall he slid down, wincing when he hit the floor. Sweat poured from his skin, the ache in his bones and the chills through his body making even the small effort of what he had just done nearly unbearable. He swallowed, feeling his stomach clench as it threatened to convulse and empty itself, but he managed to keep it down.

He closed his eyes, allowing his mind to drift. It wasn't long before it began to explore topics he would really rather not think about.

Hershel, Judith, Lori, Shane, Tomas, Oscar, Axel, Andrea...

Countless faces. So much blood on his hands. Each of them, he was responsible for in some way or another.

He even thought about Carol.

Was she alright? Did he make the right choice? Would he ever see her again?

He had kicked her out to keep his family safe. To protect her from Tyreese's anger. To try and keep everyone together.

And now... What difference did it make? The group was split. Judith was gone. Hershel was dead. All of it, his fault. If he had just said something different, if he had just shot the Governor sooner, if he hadn't been so weak then they may still have been alive.

He thought back to the day where he sat with the Governor in that room. Why didn't he just shoot him?

Why? Why?_ Why?_

He thought of Carl, firing on that Walker over and over, as if his determination and hatred could bring little Judith back. He thought of Maggie and Beth, watching their Father be slaughtered by a mad man trying to invade their home. He thought of Daryl's anger, hearing that he had left Carol on her own. He thought of Tyreese and punching him over and over until he had broken his hand. He thought of Glenn, to sick to move and nearly dying in quarantine.

So much misery and all his fault.

Part of him wondered what it would be like to die. Would the world be better off without him? Would it be a happier place without him in it?

Some part of him wondered what would happen if he were to just open that door and walk in to the arms of the first Walker he came across.

But then he would think of Carl, all alone in this big world that wanted him dead, and he felt sick with himself. He had someone to live for and here he was, wallowing in self pity and contemplating suicide. He comforted himself in thinking that it was the fever talking, that this wasn't Rick Grimes. Rick Grimes wasn't pathetic or weak. Rick Grimes was a survivor.

Raising a hand to cover his eyes, almost as if to block the world from seeing his tears, Rick Grimes allowed himself to sit and grieve.

For his wife, for his baby girl, for his son, for all those he had met since the world went to Hell and for himself.

* * *

When Carl pushed the door open and was met with the sight of his Father laying motionless in the hallway, his mind immediately jumped to the worst.

"DAD!"

He went to race forward, only to be pulled back by a strong pair of arms.

"Keep 'im back." Daryl said over his shoulder and Beth's gentle hands came forward to pull him out of the doorway, allowing Daryl to step inside. Gingerly, Daryl's hand rested on his knife, drawing the weapon slowly as he knelt down by Rick's side.

Part of Carl was horrified at what Daryl was possibly preparing himself to do and part of him was in disbelief that he was allowing it to happen. He stayed, frozen in terror of what he may be about to witness. Beth whispered in his ear, telling him that his Father was probably okay, it was just a precaution, they needed to be sure. But Carl didn't hear a word, just watched in mute horror.

"Rick?" Daryl questioned, reaching out and tapping the older mans shoulder. "Rick, I need ya' to answer me."

Rick's head tilted slightly, his eyes opening blearily, not really focusing on anything. His hands raised and for a moment, Carl almost believed him to be reanimated. The sick mental visual of the knife driving through his Father's skull nearly brought him to his knees.

_No, he couldn't be..._

"Carl?"

Carl allowed himself to breathe again.

"Dad!"

He felt Beth give a tearful sigh of relief behind him, releasing Carl and they raced in towards Rick together, collapsing at Rick's side.

Daryl was already making himself busy, checking Rick over and investigating his leg. From the twist in the hunters mouth, he didn't like what he found.

Rick's eyes moved sluggishly between them, confusion in them. "Daryl? Beth?"

Carl nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Beth smiled, tears racing down her face. "Yeah, we're here Rick."

"...Are you really?" Rick questioned, his eyes bright. "I though'... What happened?"

"We can explain that later Brother." Daryl mumbled, reaching behind Rick's back and under his knees, lifting him up and carrying him back towards his room. Rick hissed in pain as his leg was jostled, biting back a curse. Carl followed behind like a lost puppy before jumping forward to open the bedroom door for the pair. "You need to stay here and get some sleep."

"How does he look?" Beth asked, moving forward to inspect the wound for herself.

"Ain't good." Daryl replied, "We're gonna need meds, that's for sure." He cursed quietly, standing and watching Rick like a hawk, his eyes roaming back over his wounded leg to his pale, pained face. "We just got all that we would need from the University too. It's all still back at the prison."

"We could go back?" Carl suggested, his eyes desperate. "We could get it for him, we know the prison and not many would have gotten inside the walls. It's just overrun outside of it."

"Too risky." Daryl replied, heaving a heavy sigh. "It took all of us to take it before, there are even more Walkers there now."

"But he'll die!" Carl argued furiously, "I've looked everywhere, that pharmacy was my last hope!"

"What about the feed store?"

Carl turned to Beth who was already mothering over Rick, taking a cloth from her pocket and dabbing it over his face. "What?"

"Feed stores carry penicillin, along with other drugs for live stock." She pressed, "It could still be there. It's safer then trying the prison."

"We passed one a few miles up the road." Daryl agreed, "We didn't go in, a few geeks hangin' around but nothin' I can't handle."

"I'll go with you." Carl agreed, standing up but Daryl shook his head.

"No, I think you should stay here."

Immediately Carl made to argue but a look from Daryl quieted him. "You need to stay and look after your old man and Beth. If anything should... Happen, you need to be here."

Carl paused, his eyes flicking back to his Father's pale face before he nodded solemnly. Daryl's face was tight with tightly guarded emotions as he considered the young man before him and he opened his mouth to say something, what it was he wasn't sure, but he decided against it and kept his silence, his eyes shadowing as he chose instead to look at Rick's face.

"Your old man's done a lot for us, the least I can do is try and save him." Daryl nodded to himself before turning and heading right back out the door. "I should be back by sundown. If not, lock the door and don't open it till I come back."

Carl sat up, meaning to thank the red neck, but by the time he realized what was going on Daryl was already gone. He paused before slouching back down, leaning against the couch and resting his head on his father's shoulder. Worry wriggled in his belly, refusing to leave him alone.

"It'll be alright." Beth said, touching his hand lightly. "Daryl and Rick are both tough, they'll pull through."

Carl simply nodded, hoping more then anything that she was right.

But then again, fate had not been kind recently. Why would it start now?


	2. Chapter 2

Silence reigned over the small room, the only exception being the quiet random mumbles that escaped Rick's mouth. His eyes were clenched tight, his breathing rapid and his eyes moving restlessly beneath closed lids, desperately seeking something that Carl could not see. Rick's hands curled in to tight fists as his frown deepened.

Carl could do little more then delicately place his hand on his Father's shoulder, but it still seemed to do the trick. Rick relaxed nearly immediately, a small sigh escaping his mouth. The world blurred around him as he took in the swollen, purpled face of Rick Grimes, something that he had done more times then he could count in the last couple days. The Governor had really done a number on him, his fists pounding his grief-stricken Father's face into a pulp... Not that Rick hadn't managed to get a few good swings in himself.

Carl really didn't know whose bullet buried itself in to that monsters arm after that swing into Hershel's neck, both he and his Father had reacted at the same time, but knowing it was one of them gave Carl a dark sense of satisfaction. But then he would remember how he had had a clear shot, how he could have ended it before anything had ever happened and they all would have lived. He should have done it.

Sometimes, he imagined himself standing over the man, listening to his gasp and beg. Carl would level his gun at his face, watch the fear come in to that single eye and he would fire.

He knew it was wrong, that he should not think such things. It was exactly what his Father wanted to keep him from becoming. But he couldn't help it.

Perhaps he was crazy.

Then again, they all were now. How could you not be? You needed to be a little unstable to survive in these times, regardless of what Hershel tried to fool himself into thinking.

None of them were the people they once were.

"It must have been scary."

Carl jumped slightly and his face colored when he realized that Beth, of all people, had managed to startle him. He ducked his face, trying to hide the traitorous blush that showed his humiliation to the world. Breathing deeply and willing his face to cool, he looked up to her, proud that he met her eye with steely determination.

"What was?"

Beth tilted her head slightly, her pony tail swinging over her thin shoulders as she gave him a small smile. She always did that, tried to smile and comfort and keep everything that terrified her locked up inside. She rarely cried anymore, or allowed any emotion to show through. It made him uncomfortable at times. It was like looking in to a mirror, he was exactly the same. "Being out here all on your own. I was frightened and I had Daryl, I don't know what would have happened if I was by myself."

"You just do what you have to." Carl responded quietly, rubbing Rick's shoulder absent-mindedly. It fell in to an awkward silence, not nearly as comfortable as it had been before, and Carl wanted to say more but found the words sticking in his throat.

He should tell her how sorry he was for the loss of her Father. How Hershel had been a good, decent man who never deserved what happened to him. How a part of himself still blamed himself over not taking that shot when he had it, clear and precise. He could have ended it before Hershel died. None of it would have happened. He should have done it.

How did you apologize to a girl about allowing her father to be brutally decapitated with a sword? Her father, who had been a loving, wise, honorable man who did nothing but place others before himself. Who had cared about his daughters, about Carl, about everyone at the prison like they were all his flesh and blood.

He did not see an outcome to this situation ending well so he held his silence.

And so did she.

Together, they watched night fall, thinking of their lost loved ones and hoping that Daryl was doing alright.

* * *

Sunset had come upon him quickly, darkness beginning to spread its wings across the sky, bleeding the blue with reds and oranges.

He cursed himself for not stopping here before, when there hadn't been a walker in sight. No, when he needed to get in to that damn store it of course had to be after this bunch of random corpses moved in, their moans filling the air and making his blood boil in frustration.

There were plenty of abandoned buildings around Georgia, completely without a walker infestation. Yet, whenever he needed to get anywhere, it was always the one damned building they seemed drawn to.

His eyes scanned the area quickly as he crept around the perimeter, making sure he wasn't waltzing right in to something he couldn't handle. The building was decent size, about what you would expect for a small town shop with three points of entry. The main doors for customers to enter up front, the roll up door where farmers would back their trucks up to pick up product and the emergency exit that was nestled near a large woodpile. Six large windows showed different displays out front, giving him a good way to keep watch outside to see if he remained undetected in the store, but would also make him vulnerable to being surrounded. Not ideal, but he would just have to deal with it.

Two geeks fumbled around inside from what he could see, although the windows were so coated in filth that he couldn't really be sure about that. Outside seven of them stumbled around, wandering aimlessly in search of their next meal. Another corpse lay on the ground, unmoving where some of the logs from the woodpile had fallen and pinned it. Daryl included it in the count anyways, those damn things had a habit of appearing harmless right before they popped up and took a nice chunk out of your thigh.

He breathed deeply, crouching down in the weeds as one of the walkers ambled to his hiding place, seemingly still unaware of the living man just feet away. His fingers clenched over his knife as he patiently waited, sweaty palms making his grip his weapon harder. When he was just close enough Daryl popped out, grabbing it around the throat and piercing the blade up through the back of the creatures skull, ignoring the sensation of the knife gliding through bone and organ. The walker's hiss was cut off nearly as soon as it started and it slumped lifelessly to the ground.

He removed his knife and moved back to the shadows, glancing behind him and listening to ensure that nothing snuck up behind him.

"One down." He mumbled, wiping the blood off absent mindedly in the grass with a frown. "Ten to go."

Taking advantage of a woodpile outside the back of the feed store, he waited till they were facing away from him before creeping forward, crossbow now in hand and bolt in place. Five bolts and a knife against ten walkers. He'd faced worse odds before.

Not wasting any time he plunged his knife in to the seemingly dead man's skull, not surprised to see his eyes pop open a mere second before his blade met its mark. The man had just begun to raise his hands before they slumped back to the earth, once again harmless.

He crept forward, making sure he wasn't visible to the walkers before reaching out and grasping the door handle.

Of course, it was locked up tight.

Sighing heavily and knowing that would have been too easy he turned, seeing that the next nearest point was the roll up door. Part of him was very reluctant to attempt to lift it, knowing it would make a huge racket and most likely alert some of the walkers to his presence. But the front entrance had most of them around it, making it a much riskier move.

He lifted his crossbow, eyeing the two walkers over the logs that were near the door. Taking a moment to aim, he fired, the arrow whizzing through the air before burying itself perfectly through the female's forehead. She fell forward without a sound before landing with a solid thump. The large walker in overall's next to her glanced at his fallen companion for a moment before turning away and shuffling off, none the wiser to the red neck that currently held him in his sights.

With another quiet whoosh through the air, the man fell as well, the green feathered end of the bolt peeking out from his greasy hair, the sharp pointed end buried deep in his frontal lobe.

"Seven." Daryl muttered to himself as he crept out and collected the bolts, relieved that the others had managed to wander a bit further away, approaching the road that lead to the town center. As long as he managed to keep quiet, this was going to be a walk in the park.

He approached the door, kneeling down and grabbing a hold of the handle. Tugging experimentally, he was pleased when it moved with just a little effort. Pulling harder, he flinched when the wheels squealed in protest, the sound ringing through the yard and no doubt alerting the ones who had just been moving along to his presence.

He paused for just a moment before the hisses grew louder, more pronounced. How they sounded when they caught wind of prey.

Cursing himself for being reckless, he put all his muscle into the job of lifting the door and it span up, reaching the end of the track with a loud thud. Daryl had just a moment to rush in and start pulling the door back down before a pair of rotten hands grasped at his shoulders, a vicious snarl from behind making Daryl spin to face his attacker. He had just a second to spot the man a bit shorter then him, his eyes clouded over and milky with his cheek hanging from his face like a piece of flayed meat, before it opened its jaws wide and dove for his shoulder.

* * *

"Carl?"

Carl glanced over at Beth from his vigil at Rick's bedside. "Yeah?"

She grasped her hands close together, her eyes pinned on her fingers in an unusually nervous way. Almost as if she was afraid to say whatever she was thinking. She probably didn't realize just how silly that fear was. She truly had no reason to be afraid to talk to him no matter what it was she was thinking.

He vaguely wondered how it could possibly be she had no idea how much he cared about her, about the Greene family as a whole. Sure, everyone at the prison had cared about one another, he'd made a great friend in Patrick and thought of them all as one big community. But there was just a bond between the original group that had spent months on the road together, that had taken the prison, that had lost people and comforted one another through their hardest times, that made them so much closer then with the others. He loved each and every one of them, even though he could never say it out loud.

Like always, he kept his thoughts silent, waiting for her to speak.

"Maybe you should get some sleep." She told him, her eyes moving to Rick. "I know you must be really tired and I'm hear to watch over him. I can wake you if anything happens. I'm not tired, Daryl was always the one keeping watch and I got to sleep plenty." A fond smile came over her face as she shrugged. "You know how he is, worrying about everyone but himself, even if he doesn't want to admit it."

Carl hesitated, arguments on his tongue telling her that he wasn't tired, that he needed to watch Rick in case anything should change in the situation, that they could be discovered by walkers or other threats at any time, that he couldn't sleep because his dreams were plagued with the sound of moans and gunfire and a baby carrier filled with blood.

But he knew his eye lids were starting to droop and his arms felt strangely heavy. He knew that his mind was sluggish and his vision was beginning to blur around the edges. He knew that if he was to stay alert like he needed to be, he did need to rest.

He'd seen what happened to his father, how run down and unhealthy he looked whenever things started to bother him in the night and he went days without sleeping. Carl could not allow himself to get to that point. If there was a situation where he needed to save them, he needed to be alert and prepared.

Beth turning those big blue eyes to his was just the final nail in the coffin.

He doubted he would be getting any sleep, but he didn't want to worry her any more then he needed to. He could at least pretend for her sake, and try for his own.

Carl sighed heavily, nodding slightly. "You're right. Just give me an hour and if he stops..." Carl paused, a lump in his throat cutting him off and he took a second to compose himself. "If anything changes, wake me up."

She nodded, turning her eyes back to Rick as Carl laid down on the floor, bunching up some old blankets as a pillow. He listened to the sound of them breathing. The sound of Beth beginning to hum a tune that he soon recognized as Parting Glass, a song that had been one of her father's favorites. It brought his thoughts back to the very first time he had ever heard her sing it. The night they found the prison and for just a moment, everything had seemed like it was going to turn out for the better.

But T-Dog had been right about it after all. It had become a tomb for more then one of their family.

His eyes refused to close even as he willed them to, waiting the hear the hushed footsteps of Daryl returning or maybe even the moan of a walker that had found their hiding place. Some part of him that had not quite accepted what had happened still listened for the sound of a baby cry, alerting him to Judith needing him. But of course, none of the cries came.

He knew that despite his intentions, he would be getting no sleep tonight. He would pretend to make Beth feel better. So he listened instead.

And if he heard Beth's voice catch slightly as she began to whisper the song's lyrics, a slight sob breaking through the tune, he could pretend he didn't hear that either.

* * *

Daryl threw himself backwards, dodging the clacking teeth by mere inches. It was a thin, pathetic thing with its ribs protruding from its sides and its wrists as thin as pencils, although its stomach distended in a very odd manner. Daryl allowed himself a moment of disgust, to digest the fact that this wretched thing was nearly what did him in. Merle would have beat his ass without mercy in the afterlife to know that a Dixon went out so stupidly.

The walker stumbled, twisting around in an attempt to grasp Daryl once more but tripping over its own feet and sending it tumbling under the door.

Daryl reached up, grabbing hold of the handle again and forcing it down, the heavy door rushing with alarming speed only to be met with a sickening crunch when the door smashed on the walker's ankles. The bone splintered, breaking through the skin and covering the ground in sticky brown blood. The creature attempted to stand, waving it's legs around and not even noticing how its feet dangled from a few rotten strands of flesh. Its milky eyes searched without seeing, its nostrils flared as it drew in his scent and sending it in to a frenzy.

It hissed, raising an arm in an attempt to grab and unknowingly pulling its feet out of the way in the process. Daryl slammed the door down and heaved on the lock, sealing off the way in.

Just in time, as seconds later other hands began to beat against the door but it held steady and true. A little to close for comfort, if he ws being perfectly honest with himself, but he had managed just like he always did.

He immediately pulled out his crossbow and turned on the light that hung to the weapon's underbelly, sweeping the room. When there was no further movement or sign of of a corpse hiding away in a dark corner he relaxed only slightly.

He looked around, noting he was in the feed room. It looked relatively untouched, which didn't surprise him too much. He supposed not too many folks had livestock to tend anymore and they had collected their supplies from a small shop that had been closer to the prison. The bags of chicken feed had been torn in to, mostly ground up corn and seeds, as well as a bag of horse pellets. His nose curled slightly when he noted what looked suspiciously like vomit next to the horse bag, the pellets expanded and blended together with stomach acid.

Dried blood caked to the underside of the door as well as the handle, the spray from the arteries making an arc on the door like some kind of children's art project. From the height of it, the man had been attempting to lift the door and get out when he had been bitten on the ankle. The blood trail dragged over to the feed bags, where he assumed the man had laid to die. From how lived in the place looked, he could only assume the man had been in there for some time and desperation to find real food had overriden his fear, driving him out to the geeks.

"Dumb bastard locked himself up in here and starved to death." Daryl mumbled to himself, remembering the way the walkers stomach appeared strangely bloated. Daryl felt his own gag reflex kick in at the stench of the place, from both the waste of when the man was living and the rotten stench of decay afterwards.

On the bright side, there was a small supply of water bottles off in the corner. He filed the information away for later and walked over to the door.

Shadows danced beneath it as the rapidly fading sunlight illuminated the walkers on the other side of it, scratching away and trying to break through. He knelt down, looking at their feet through the crack in the door. He bit down a sigh of relief at only seeing two pairs. Looks like he had been right.

Getting out his knife Daryl went to the handle and prepared his grip, pleased to find that the door had a chain lock. He opened it a crack and the walkers pushed forward, the door stopping abruptly at the end of the chain. They hissed and snarled, broken fingers pressing through the space in a desperate attempt to reach him. He waited from one to push forward as it nuzzled its face in, pressing hard and not noticing the flesh of its cheeks peeling away, too rotten to hold to the bone.

The blade sank deep in to its skull and it slumped heavily, allowing the other walker to push forward.

"Rinse and repeat." Daryl grumbled to himself. It wasn't long till both of them lay against the door, dead for the second time.

Daryl waited for a moment and was met with no further encounters at the door. It appeared that all the walkers had gone to the back rolling door, still beating against it in a futile attempt to get in. It stood firm, never wavering.

Pushing the bodies back and undoing the lock, Daryl stepped over them and entered the room. It was relatively untouched, all things considered. The obvious things were missing from the shelves like hatchets, axes, hammers, anything that could have been used as a weapon, along with other useful essentials like rope, things that would have probably been taken in the first wave of looting.

Holding his breath, Daryl moved to the first aid aisle. Most of it was pretty picked over, the basics such as gauze, wrappings and spray on wound cleaners were gone, but there was still a surprising amount available.

He set to work, passing over the things he didn't need and filing the information away for future gathering purposes. He wasn't going to both with non-essentials now, he needed to move as quickly as possible.

He grabbed syringes, needles, what little wrapping supplies were left and two large bottles of hydrogen peroxide. He moved on to the glass case containing the antibiotics, reading over labels before finally finding a rather large bottle of penicillin intended for cattle. He felt his chest leap when he read that it wasn't even expired yet. It was almost too good to be true. Rick would need a minimum of ten days for it to truly take effect, but there was more then enough doses here. They would have plenty to spare, which was always a good thing.

He then moved on to the small fishing aisle, gathering up fishing line in case Rick would need his leg stitched shut. He hit the area that contained human first aid kits to find everything gone, not that he was surprised. He hit the animal aisle one last time and finding a bottle of something called blu-kote that had rolled under a shelf, he stowed his supplies in to his bag. He ran back and grabbed a few of the water bottles before racing forward and beating on the back door a few times, the metal clanging loudly and riling up the walkers again.

When he was certain they were well distracted he backed up and moved through the front doors. It was dark now but the moon was full, illuminating the area enough for his to see just fine. The dark shapes of the walkers clawing at the door stood out in the night and he smirked to himself as he dashed back in to the trees, his feet remembering just where to go.

Still, worry continued to gnaw at his gut as he ran. He just hoped he wasn't too late.


End file.
